Son of Man
by Aslynn
Summary: When Death is sent by the Charred Council to execute the Archangel Azrael for triggering the Endwar, he will instead devise a plan for him to escape and hide in Earth's past as an ordinary human being. But when the time comes, will Death be able to keep the young human safe? Specially as the Gatekeeper no longer remembers who he truly is? [Death x OOC Azrael] -Chapter 2 up-
1. Prologue

Alright, let me start off by stating that bunnies are NOT cute. Specially plot bunnies.  
Oh, "why?" you ask?  
Let me tell you: You see THIS? THIS was supposed to be Lostlight chapter 8.  
But it's not. Nope.  
Cause a freakin plot bunny hopped its way into my head, the little furry bastard, and would not leave until this happened: A whole new story line. (yay!) running parallel to the other unfinished one. (sigh)  
I will try to keep up with both, but I make no promises. Contrary to Lostlight, this story is nowhere near drafted in full. I intend for it to be more episodical with (hopefully) shorter chapters in a more loose format than the single storyline of Lostlight. And while this prologue might not have any comedy in it, it's my intention that the subsequent chapters will be more light hearted.

YAOI in later chapters. Ye have been warned! Will keep it T for now but we'll 'M it up' later ;)  
Also, as this is not fully mapped out, I may even take reader suggestions on future chapters if they fit into the overall plot :P

For now, I hope you will enjoy this entirely new offering from me.  
(And yes, I did just blame a proverbial rabbit for my failure to deliver a chapter. What? )

* * *

Son of Man - Prologue

Birdsong seemed to ring from all around the luscious valley. Trees and shrubs of the deepest emerald green, ocean blue and even deep violet, swayed in the cold gentle breeze. Small glowing insects darted every which way, the trails of their fairy like luminescence adding to the magical atmosphere of early dawn in this particular region of the Maker's Realm.

The thick, almost impenetrable vegetation here was a symptom of the strong Life Force pervading this valley. Life Force that the Maker Shamans harnessed, imbuing its power into spells and creations. The primary reason why the Shaman Muria had decided to set up her private residence and workshop here.

Unlike most of her kin that bent the living rock to their will in the art of crafting the very foundations of entire worlds, Muria's craft manipulated the very essence of Life itself. It was the crafting of living beings, flora and fauna, that might populate those countless worlds her brethren forged.

The sun had not yet peeked it's rays over the tops of the surrounding rocky hills that housed the valley but already Muria was awake. Had in fact been awake and laboring all through the night on a most urgent task. She stood now on a secluded stone pavilion nestled deep in the lush valley, waiting for her guests, one angel and one nephilim, to make their way up the stone steps to meet her. She could not help but smile wryly at how starkly the tranquil atmosphere of her beloved valley contrasted with the somber mood of the three beings now gathering around the solid stone table at the center of the pavilion.

Blue silk covered the white haired shaman's eyes as always, her mundane sight 'traded' eons ago in exchange for a deeper communion with the spirits of nature. But then, she did not need to see with her mundane eyes to feel the exhaustion in the auras of both her companions.

"Good morning Archangel, Horseman" She greeted them. "Although I dare say neither of you have slept..."

Indeed they had not. Though they had been offered lodge in the shaman's own home while she completed her task, Azrael had chosen to spend every available minute in meditation at the Tree of Life and the gates of the Well of Souls there. The intricate wards he set in place on the Well would be the last he would place in a very long time. So he had reasoned, to a concerned Death, the more the better.

And Death, for lack of a better way to occupy his time, stood watch. Or rather paced uneasily some distance away as he strained eyes, ears and magical perception to make sure that they were not discovered. The Rider had counseled against being out in the open for so long: if they were so much as seen together all their plans could be for naught. But as Death had long ago discovered, Azrael had a tendency to ignore advice and do 'whatever the hell he damn well pleased' if he deemed it necessary. Last night had not been the exception but although irritated, Death had ultimately decided to let the angel be. It would be the last he would commune with his sacred charge and duty.

Besides, more wards could only help.

It would just be up to him, as always, to prevent possible disaster. The Charred Council must not learn that he was aiding their most wanted fugitive: the archangel he had been sent to kill.

This, not even his brothers could know. Even if the other Riders also suspected the Charred Council of treachery. Even if it earned Death his brother's anger and hatred for a time. Not until the time was right.

First, the key element must be removed from the playing field.

All must believe, wholeheartedly, that the Gatekeeper had died here this day. Had been judged and punished for the crime of unleashing the Apocalypse. Had perished by the Executioner's blade. None could know the Gatekeeper would endure, would return to guard the Well once the immediate threat of the Council was dealt with. Their heinous ploy to take over the Well of Souls exposed to all Creation.

The cleansing and siphoning of souls in a never ending cycle is the pillar of all life in Creation. No one entity could be allowed custody of a power so absolute. The Well of Souls must remain guarded by the only being who could be trusted to do just that. Guard it. Not use its power to subjugate every soul in existence.

Ensuring the Archangel's survival is what brought them here to the Maker's realm. To seek the aid of the life-binding Shaman with their desperate endeavor. Although Death had more than one reason to hope they could pull it off.

"Good morning, Elder Muria" Azrael offered a tired smile.

"Just Muria, Lord Azrael" the Shaman dismissed the courtesy. Being addressed by that title only saddened her at recalling the demise of the well loved Eidard.

She leaned on her gnarled staff to walk over to present the result of her work laying on the stone table. Maker, angel and nephilim stood staring down at the body of a child, appearing no older than five years of age.

"Your essence was invaluable for this" Muria explained, casually pointing to Azrael's forearm, where a long scar marked where blood had been drawn. "I crafted the body to resemble yours as much as possible. It is in every respect a clone. Within human parameters, of course"

"Of course"

Death stared down at the child's vacant open eyes. If the unforgiving winds and biting cold of the Icy Veil could manifest themselves in visible form, they would be this color. Lightest grey and specs of blue that strayed only far enough from pure white that one might not mistakenly claim they were an angel's eyes. Short delicate hair that was more a creamy blonde, again, only so as to be differentiated from the traditional angel white. Only the boy's skin retained Azrael's tanned olive shade. The young rosy cheeks seemed so full of life even as the human lay there motionless. Devoid of a soul.

It was unnerving.

"So... small..." Death mused, unable to take his eyes from the child's.

Shaman and Archangel both turned to the first words the Horseman had uttered in what may have been hours if not days.

Not that Death even acknowledged them, lost to his thoughts. -the whole of Creation was in turmoil. The White City had wasted no time declaring open war with The Pit, the conflict stretching over countless realms and more where engulfed in warfare by the day. The Council struggled to regain control, flailing in the effort, sending out its Riders to issue out 'justice' while the Council's most trusted agents moved beneath anyone's notice, trying to procure a way to commandeer the Well of Souls. The answer they all came up with was the one everyone already knew: eliminate the Gatekeeper.

_And this -child- is the best plan we have..._ Death thought, frustration and apprehension building inside.

"Do you have the vessel and the ring I gave you?" Muria turned back to the Archangel when it became apparent that Death had no intention of adding anything further.

Azrael nodded solemnly, producing a simple silver ring and a small crystal shard of translucent turquoise. When he had first been given the crystal, it had been inert and colorless. Now it glowed, pulsating faintly in his palm. Muria outstretched her large hand in his general direction and the items simply drifted over to her, as if fallen leaves caught on a sudden updraft.

"Then everything is ready. Archangel, Horseman." Muria nodded curtly to each in turn. "I will retire so that you may do this in your own time. But please, do not take too long."

"We won't" Azrael assured her, bowing slightly. "Thank you for all of your aid in this, Muria"

"Thank me when you have succeeded" She dismissed him again, placing the crystal shard -the vessel, and the silver ring beside the human boy's head. Then thinking better of her curt demeanor, paused to turn back to the pair and added much more warmly, "I wish you luck. Both of you." and turned to descend the steps of the pavilion to await below when her skills would be needed again.

Finding themselves alone again, Azrael moved away from the table so that they may have more room.

"For the Council to believe you carried out your mission, it must be your blade that does this..." Azrael reminded Death, when the Horseman remained motionless.

"Curse the day I ever proposed this plan" Death rasped out, even his voice managed to sound worn and apprehensive.

"It is a good plan."

"I guess I did not expect the little thing to be so tiny and frail" Death said lifting the boy's hand with a single bony finger of his large hand.

"Well, he _is_ human..."

"Yes..." Death sighed, delicately setting the hand down again, as if afraid it would somehow break. "I spoke out of practicality. Carrying out the plan..." He looked hesitantly at the small boy "is another matter entirely."

"I will admit that this 'hiding until the worst is over' does not sit well with me" Azrael frowned thoughtful "But I understand the necessity."

Unclipping both halves of Harvester from his hips and fluidly forming a single massive edged scythe, Death groaned out loud. A weary, resigned sound that Azrael was not at all used to hearing from the impassive Horseman.

"It's just the initial, uhm... unpleasantness." Azrael smiled warmly, trying to make light of the situation, as much for Death as for himself. "_You_ can get over that, if anyone can..."

"Do you think me a heartless bastard?!" Death growled.

"No. Forgive me." Azrael shook his head, his customary sullenness returning to his features "I meant that you are the strongest of us". After a pause he added "Death, the plan is sound. We must take heart in that. It will work."

"Were it that I had your confidence."

"You must. It all hinges on you." Azrael risked placing a reassuring palm on the muscular shoulder. The touch both soft and warm on the cool grey skin. "I trust you." he said softly, looking deep into burning amber eyes that gazed back at him surprised.

Something might have passed between them then. It might not have. It was not the first time Death had felt this with the angel, but now he only looked away, choosing to ignore it. No sense in delving into this particular can of worms. Not now.

"I'm ready" Azrael finally declared when the sudden silence between them began to stretch uncomfortably.

_I'm not..._

"Turn around" Death's voice was flat and emotionless but his stomach twisted in all sorts of knots.

"I can face this squarely" Azrael smiled wryly.

"But _I_ can't face _you!_" Death growled, and the angel jumped at the outburst.

Death. The eldest Horseman and last surviving Firstborn of the Nephilim, had never been so reluctant to take a life. He would do so. Oh, he knew he would do so. But never before had it hurt so damn much.

"I'm sorry" Azrael muttered downcast, though he sounded like he didn't know what he was apologizing for, only that he had somehow angered his friend. The angel searched for something else to say, but there was really, nothing _left_ to say.

And so the Archangel did as he was bid and turned his back on Death. This was it. It felt like goodbye even if both of them refused to acknowledge it with a "farewell".

No! One last thing remained: silence was cowardice! He _had_ to tell Azrael how he felt. This was his last chance. Of course the angel would not correspond, he had always known that. He'd be shunned either by his demonic blood or by his necromantic nature. He _knew_ that. But the alternative was living forever more with the fact that he could not summon up the courage to let the angel know.

"Azrael... I..." Harvester's haft creaked in the Horseman's grip. Death was not known for ever doubting himself, yet now he felt his mouth go dry as ashes. The fear of actually loosing Azrael was suddenly all too real and his throat closed up of its own accord. If he continued, he knew the angel would hear his voice crack. "-uhm..."

"We _will_ meet again, Death" Azrael half turned to look behind him, if only for Death to see that he smiled a reassuring, understanding smile "You can tell me then."

Something in the deep breathy voice lifted Death's spirits. Something he was sure the angel intended him to sense, not hear. What felt like a warm invitation filled him with resolve again. Yes, their scheme would work. It had to. If not for the fate of Creation then only so that he may vow to bear his heart when they finally met.

And then maybe, just maybe...

"I will. I swear it"

Azrael turned back to face away and took a deep breath, pushing away all doubt, centering his mind. He lowered both his wings to where they drooped on the stone floor, clearing them out of the way of his neck, offering an unobstructed target. Then stood perfectly still.

Death willed his hands not to shake as he took a firm grip on Harvester's snath. He would take no chance that a shaky grip might make the strike less clean and pain-free. He circled the scythe high from right to left, preparing to slash the blade horizontally with a backhand swing.

_I swear it!_

Harvester sung.

Azrael never felt a thing.


	2. Chapter 0

...

Here in the white nothingness the horse's hooves made no sound. The swirling immaterial currents parted before them and breezed around them almost palpable yet never quite touching them. The emptiness solidified beneath them only long enough that the rotting animal may take its next ambling step in this realm between realms.

Rightly sensing the somber mood, Despair made no attempt to press his master for a destination. The spectral horse only trusted that if he kept on walking unhurriedly, the white veil would eventually part and whatever realm they were heading for would soon materialize around them.

Death was silently grateful. He had many things on his mind. Too many. And he would have added more if he could have thought up anything else. Keeping his mind occupied was the only way he'd found to ignore the aching in his heart. A feeling he was entirely unaccustomed to, and one he found most disconcerting.

The Charred Council, Heaven and Hell, Death considered them all for the hundredths time. His brothers, and the show he would have to put on for them. He even imagined Lilith's reaction if she ever found out her Phasewalker spell was being put to use in smuggling the Gatekeeper to where no one would think to look. The Past.

He sensed the boy stir in his arms and looked down, jolted from his thoughts. He found bright inquisitive eyes calmly staring up at him, as if deciding what to make of his custodian. Those young eyes... they were still Azrael's eyes -even if the color was all _wrong_!- Death thought, and wondered suddenly why this annoyed him so.

It was the first time the little creature opened his eyes since Azrael's dea... since they had bound Azrael's soul to the child.

It had been difficult at first to retain the angel's soul long enough for Muria to spark life into the inert tiny body and fuse it in place. It wasn't so much that Azrael's soul had been 'stubborn' as he remember War's had been. It was more that the Well of Souls simply sought to claim its own. He had been unprepared for the pull to be so fierce. But they had managed in the end, and the boy had breathed.

Without a sound, the child reached up, drawn to the turquoise crystal that now hung around the Rider's neck on a thin black leather string.

"You can't have that yet" Death said soothingly as he caught the child's hand in his large bony fingers, to which the boy only frowned in mild puzzlement.

Losing interest in the pendant, the child focused instead on the bright burning eyes behind the bone mask, and Death could not help but stare back, drawn into their icy depths. No... not ice, -that had been his impression when he first saw the grey blue orbs. But they had been lifeless then. Now that the boy lived -actually lived, there was no cold harshness there. They were gleaming, inviting, beautiful. Diamond eyes.

Death felt the tiny hand grip his thumb as a babe would hold onto its parent's, and could not deny the link deep in his soul, clicking into place. He had seen the boy only as a vessel, a _thing_ that would ensure Azrael's survival. Now he saw the truth. This tiny human _was_ Azrael now. Now and forever more. Even if the scholar's mind had been kept separate, and no memory of his former self would remain, this was Azrael's soul, and it was his soul that he loved.

Suddenly this child was the most precious thing in Creation to him and a new stab of pain ached through his heart at knowing he would _have_ to leave him.

The Horseman gently pulled away from the boys grip, set the delicate hand down on the boy's lap and took up Despair's reins again. Without thinking he drew the boy close and rested his chin on the blonde head.

If his brothers could see him now...

The tiny hand rose, but before Death could stop him from reaching for the pendant again, the little fingers closed around a lock of his black hair. He stared perplexed as the boy, now seemingly satisfied, lay his head on the muscled grey chest and closed his eyes.

It was much later that the immaterial whiteness parted and Earth resolved itself around them. The boy was fast asleep, hand still clasped tightly around the raven lock of hair.

...

* * *

A note on _'in between chapters'_: they are just that, little one-scene pieces that I feel add to the story but are isolated enough that they don't actually fit into the flow of a chapter before or after.  
Before anyone complains that: "this chapter was way too short! angry face raaahg!" :c  
They are scenes that linger around in my head after the chapter is done and I still have the desire to put them down on paper.

Think of them as the extra scene at the end of the credits of the episode ;) There won't always be one, but when there is, I'll do them like this. Because it's fun and because I can :V

* * *

Also thank you to you peeps that have already left reviews :D

Siren: yeah I always wished we got to deal more with Muria, she was interesting as a character, her personality was very different from the other Makers. Well, now she is the new Elder, and waist deep in this whole debacle :s  
Also, I'm back to pulling on Death's heartstrings again, see? :c

Lil Miss: hopefully this extra bit clears up where exactly Azrael will be spending his time. Safety with the Makers would have been deceptive as the Council was bound to go there searching. On Earth he'll be alone. Like really alone as Death has to go back and deal with the Council, but it's a calculated risk :/  
Azrael sais to tell you that he appreciates your concern tho :)  
And don't worry, this story will eventually be filled with much drivings and witts and ends ;) on both sides.


	3. Chapter 1

Sooooo, I won't even get into how busy I've been.  
Finally Chapter 1 of this fic! yay! (first two chapters were Prologues... confusing I know, but this is the story's actual starting point :P )

Hope you all enjoy :D  
I tried to keep dates simple, but if it's at all confusing let me know and I'll be happy to clear up the timeline :p

* * *

I don't own a single thing in the Darksiders franchise.  
(though I will admit to jealously guarding Azrael's heart :c )

* * *

...

Time will see us realign  
Diamonds reign across the sky  
Shower me into the same realm

Time will lead us to the same realm  
I will lead us to the same realm

Diamond Eyes - Deftones

Chapter 1

Human children grew fast.

Death reminded himself of that fact every few minutes as he searched the faces of the people walking in and out of the three storey brick building he was currently watching. The Horseman stood quite a ways off, atop a small rise that afforded a good view of the main entrance and the grounds in front of the building, all the way up to the front gates of the premises. If the human he was searching for walked past, he was sure to see him and then his senses would tell him if it was indeed the soul he sought.

A flash of white feathers and blue glyphs fleeted through Death's mind unbidden. An image of perpetually sullen white eyes. But he pushed it aside as quickly as it had come. It would never be anything more than a memory now…

It had taken him the better part of the day to track down this particular soul. It was not even in the same town he had expected it to be. The town Death had brought it to, all those years ago, when he had left a five year old child at the front steps of an orphanage. It had also been cold that day, Death recalled, eyeing the dark clouds overhead as they brooded on further snowfall.

Nevertheless, Death and Dust had travelled several kilometers this morning, tracking the human boy with the soul of an angel. And had arrived here, to this very building. The fact that human beings were so annoyingly numerous even in small cities only made the task harder, and the prospect of recognizing the boy, even more daunting.

But not impossible. He'd seen the child many times before, even if the child itself was unaware of Death's existence. In the span of nine years since leaving him in this realm he'd visited Earth as often as he could afford to. At times, when warring realms and the Council's schemes kept him and his brothers most occupied, he still made a point of coming once a year at least. Just to make sure the human angel was safe. Creation depended on it after all, one could not be too careful. That's what Death told himself at least.

It had been too early for the boy to know who the Horseman was, and the inevitable string of questions that revelation would trigger. Always he'd kept careful distance, as he studied the boy from afar, never allowing himself to be seen. Now it would be different. Now it was time...

_-We will meet again, Death-_ Azrael's deep breathy voice played in the Horseman's mind again. _-You can tell me then...-_

Death shook his head in annoyance. His stupid heart had nothing to do with his present task!

He was here because he had a duty to all Creation to carry out a plan set in motion years before and he better concentrate on it! He brutally forced the feeling of growing anticipation down. This unresolved sensation of giddiness coupled with nervousness was not something a Horseman of the Apocalypse would ever admit to. Besides, he might still have hours to wait before he saw him. Death rasped out a sigh and sat back on a wooden bench, studying his surroundings once more in an effort to re-center his mind. Then again, it might have been purely out of boredom.

'School of Engineering' had been written on a stone beam above the entrance of the building he watched and immediately underneath: '1804'- probably the date of construction, Death theorized. Indeed the collection of small and large red buildings he was surrounded by all seemed to be a couple of centuries old, though well maintained. A dusting of snow covered the grass area in front of the main building, though the paved walkways crisscrossing it were kept clear of powdery white due to the passing of feet throughout the day.

Few humans were walking about the grounds even though it was mid afternoon. The chilling wind and ominous skies were doing a good job of keeping everyone indoors it seemed. Death knew the soul he sought was somewhere in this building in front of him. He could feel it, but that was about all he could tell without getting closer.

All the years of visiting Earth and avoiding detection had made sure Death was now an expert at manipulating a human guise on a whim, maintaining it with nothing more than unconscious thought. Muria had taught him the illusion spell first, so he could watch over the growing infant she had created without scaring its caretakers.

Adding his own abilities, the essence of his namesake, Death had perfected the spell. He could proudly say it was now as potent as even Azrael's famed illusions. This _one_ illusion at least- Death sobered his pride- and then humans as a species did have very limited extra-sensory perception... but that was good enough for his purposes.

In his guise he could make himself appear a common human, the aura surrounding him deflected attention elsewhere so despite his height and build, he was even less than a face in the crowd. His 'human self' was tall and pale skinned, pearly human flesh instead of his usual deep grey. His back was broad and angular tapering down to a slim waist and long legs. Reminiscent of his true form but well within what was humanly conceivable. His jet black shoulder length hair was as he customarily wore it, except it now framed his pale mask-less face. -The single change that had taken the most to get used to- but then, going around with his face always concealed would only have attracted the attention he wished to avoid.

And if he really wanted to avoid detection all together, a little mental effort would quickly change the illusion, thickening the aura to conceal him entirely, even in plain sight, rendering him effectively invisible. These simple minds did not even realize their perception was manipulated. Then he was indeed the creeping death, the silent predator no one saw coming until it was too late.

Still, maintaining himself invisible in a room densely packed with human individuals might have been pushing it if he could not avoid physical contact. He cared not if he scared these lesser beings, but the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene and complicate everything. He'd never been one to take unnecessary risks. So the Horseman decided to wait until he could see his target in the open and _hopefully_, recognize him.

Yes, he knew the boy well enough to be able to recognize him by sight, Death thought, but then it had been seven years since he'd last seen him, since he'd stopped coming to Earth altogether. That was around the time the conflict with the Charred Council and it's army of treacherous Watchers had come to a head and Death simply could not spare the time without abandoning his brothers. Not to mention it was a particularly dangerous time to risk giving Azrael's location away.

Yet, it had only been seven years, not even a full decade, a speck of time for an immortal. How much could change in that time?

No, Death considered again for the umpteenth time, he had to remember human children changed fast. He had to resist his subconscious' temptation to look for the lanky, quiet youth of 14 years he remembered. He was now looking for a young man of around 21. Death just hoped recognizing the former Archangel would not take too long.

A crow cawed from a distance, drawing his attention up. Dust took off from his perch atop the building's roof and circled above Death in a tight spiral.

"Don't be so conspicuous. Humans don't have wild animals as companions." He said quietly but confident the crow would hear him even in the air through their linked minds.

Dust resented the reprimand with a soft caw that managed to sound sulking and climbed in the air so he was out of sight, leaving Death to wonder what the bird had intended to alert him of in the first place. He sensed no apparent change in his surroundings. Then a moment later, he did.

A subtle din rose from inside the building, Death could dimly hear from his vantage point that a flurry of movement stirred within. Then as if at some unheard signal, the paved walkways and frozen grass in front of the building seemed to suddenly fill with people. Young humans seemed to file out of the building from the main entrance as well as other side doors, or having come from many of the other smaller buildings in the premises.

Many scores of men and women around the same age as the boy he was looking for ambled around the place at once, some walking hurriedly, some forming small groups to chat.

_-great-_ Death thought as he strained his eyesight to quickly scan the sudden flood of faces he saw walking by, comparing the features in his recollection of the 14 year old and trying to picture how they would look on a 21 year old face.

He needn't have bothered. One particular human boy drew his attention the instant he stepped outside, eliciting an involuntary intake of breath from the Horseman. Subtlety momentarily forgotten, he stared openly at the slim boy walking briskly toward the gates. He might as well have been staring at the Archangel walk past.

It took a second look to register that this was not _actually_ an angel. The pale blond hair was not actually white, the peculiar bluish grey eyes did not shine. But aside from a most obvious lack of wings, this was Azrael in the flesh!

Death stood there, unable to move as he saw his dead friend hurry past, but twenty meters away from him. His dearest friend whom he himself had slain. His chest felt suddenly tight.

He'd not expected he'd be so taken aback when he finally lay eyes on him again. The last time he'd seen this boy the scrawny child had born a resemblance to the angel in many respects, yes, but this... now that he'd apparently grown into a human adult... the likeness was... it was no likeness, it was _simply him_.

Well, Muria _had_ said the body she crafted was a clone of the dead angel. He'd known that. And still, actually seeing him...

He only moved again when a second caw from above snapped him out of it. Absently he was aware that his heart was beating fast as he forced one foot in front of the other and began to follow the youth from a distance.

As expected, the simple version of the human illusion was enough that no one paid him any mind as he followed his target, taking the time to examine the boy as he walked some 20 paces behind keeping out of his field of view. This boy's loose blonde hair was longer than the angel had worn it, halfway down his back and parted in the middle instead of combed back. The very tips curled naturally into loose waves. _-Now concentrate on something useful_ ...- the nephilim chided himself.

The young human wore tight dark grey jeans tucked into ankle high black leather boots. A loose black hoodie that looked to be too big for him, with what appeared to be the silhouette of a galloping white horse on the back(1). He carried a thicker grey coat in one hand and a blue and black back pack slung over one shoulder. This boy's every move was lively and energetic, so very different from the unhurried ease of Azrael's movements that Death had come to recognize... by the Abyss! when had he noted so much about how Azrael had _walked_?- the Horseman thought flustered.

Up ahead, another young man waved energetically in their direction. "Yo! Chris!"

"Dude!" answered the human angel with a bright grin and jogged over the snow covered grass to the group of friends he'd been called over to. "You skipped class today!"

_-Chris...-_ Death repeated in his head. _-that's right, Christian... his caretakers named him Christian.-_ Death had never cared for that name, but then, it had never been his decision. Without a name the little boy could give, or any other information about himself for that matter, the people who took him in as a child had to call him _something_. Death recalled hearing other boys in the orphanage call the little Azrael _Christian_ soon after the day he left him.

Smoothly, the nephilim veered from the path to follow his target, stopping to casually lean on a bench, sufficiently far away to not be noticed but well within earshot of his acute senses. Chris clasped palms with the man who'd called out to him and was drawn into a manly embrace, complete with a heavy clap on the back. Far too 'physical' of an embrace for it to be something Azrael would have done, Death could not help but think as he stared on. That, and the broad grin that currently graced the human's features. Had he ever seen the Archangel with anything more than a polite half-hearted smile? The boy's whole demeanor was relaxed and carefree, with none of Azrael's regality or poise. The sight seemed so wonderfully odd to Death that he could not take his eyes from him, from this Azrael who's face smiled, actually smiled...

_-Alright, stop it! He may look like Azrael yes, but Azrael is _gone_!-_ Death brutally told himself, letting the pain of the declaration snap him back into focus. _-These are completely different individuals. Comparing every little thing the kid does to what Azrael would have done is not only pointless but distracting. You have a job to do!-_

His present task was simply to get the boy alone where they could talk without interruptions, introduce himself and let him know he'd be under Death's protection until the time came for the boy to regain his memories. Simple enough. _-and if all goes according to plan, become the Gatekeeper once more-_. Death absently placed a hand over the crystal pendant that hung from his neck and shifted his attention back to the group of friends.

"... so let me borrow your notes, man" the unknown youth was saying.

"So you can lose them like last time? Yeah right" Chris scoffed good naturedly as he put on the coat he carried and blew on his hands to warm them.

"Aw come on dude, I'll giv'em back straight after. Hey, you comin' over to Danny's tonight? I'll hand'em back to you then!"

"Nah, can't go. Gotta pick up some stuff from the store."

"Damn. Aight, then I'll bring'em over to your place later. How's that?"

"Argh fine..." with a resigned sigh Chris rummaged in his back pack and produced a notepad.

"Thanks man! You're saving my ass"

"Don't skip class and you won't need me to save your ass..."

"I don't understand the lectures, I understand your notes!" the other boy said with a huge innocent grin.

Chris might have replied, but the sky decided now was the time for the snow to resume. "Shit. Well that's my queue to leave" he said frowning up at the delicate snowflakes beginning to drift down, pulling up the hood over his head.

"Aight, see you at your place..." the friend offered his hand up to Chris.

"Somehow, I doubt that" the blonde youth narrowed his eyes playfully but clasped the hand in farewell.

Well, that was an un-insightful exchange, Death thought as he casually stood to follow, hoping his target would meet no other friends that would make him waste his time. The only useful information so far was that he intended to go home instead of meet with friends, which should make meeting him alone easier. The blonde youth hurried to the bus stop just outside the gates while plugging small devices connected by a cable into each ear and pulling the coat tight around his neck to protect himself from the cold. Death's longer strides allowed him to keep up easily, even when the kid suddenly broke into a run to get to the bus before it left.

No one seemed to notice a random stranger suddenly disappear in the crowd of students as Death shifted his guise to be completely invisible. A sudden sprint, an effortless jump, and the Horseman was crouching on the roof of the departing bus.

Roughly half an hour passed of sleet and snow buffeting Death as the ice cold wind knifed past his exposed perch atop the moving vehicle. He paid it no mind of course; he was used to far worse. A single minute in the Icy Veil made this experience laughable in comparison and his ever calculating mind took the opportunity to scope out the lay of the land in this part of town.

It was late afternoon and already dark by the time the bus came to a stop and his young target hoped off. This part of town was alive with humans in thick coats and scarves bustling about despite the cold. Dirty snow was piled up on the sides of the street, while the freshly falling flakes slowly melted onto the wet pavement. The cacophony of car engines and honks, the occasional car alarm, streetlights, traffic lights, neon lights... all a far cry from the relative calm of the university campus they'd come from. Death decided to keep to his invisible illusion until he decided on the best time to approach the boy in this racket and jumped off the bus' roof before it could speed off once again.

As he casually straitened from his landing crouch Death saw the boy go into a shop whose glass doors slid apart automatically. 'Convenience Store' he read looking up with a frown and again decided to remain in the open, naturally wary of constricted spaces packed with people.

While he waited, the Horseman paced down the row of shops on the block, then ranged further to the other side of the street to keep from growing impatient. All the while taking in the unusual sights of human habitation. No other realm in Creation was this densely packed and governed in every respect by artificial technology, he mused. No matter their many failings humans were truly wondrously inventive and inquisitive beings.

Death recalled the dirt streets and small wood cottages of his last visit to Earth before this whole ordeal ever happened. It had been the year 1722 by human reckoning, a city called Marseilles and there had been the pungent smell of rot and decay in the air, streets filled with disease ridden corpses.(2) Less than three centuries later and humans had completely transformed the face of their realm- Death thought as his gaze shifted constantly on the array of artificial lights of all colors and the endless parade of motorized vehicles down every street. In this regard at least, Death could not deny the present Earth was a vast improvement. No, well, _past_ Earth... _present_ Earth was a ravaged post-apocalyptic wreck... somewhere, in the _future?_...

The Rider was saved from further contemplating this time conundrum by the blonde youth re-emerging on the edge of his vision at the same time the ever vigilant Dust cawed from above.

"Yes, I see him..." Death started to head back to the convenience store when he realized the boy was actually heading in his direction, carrying a plastic bag filled with groceries.

Chris approached the group of humans gathering at the corner of the street and while he waited for the light, bent to jam the plastic bag into his backpack to protect it from the snow.

_-All right, time to get this over with-_ He would simply wait at the traffic lights for the kid to cross the street over to him and he'd ask him aside to talk. Just as Death contemplated the best moment to drop the invisibility without startling the boy, the lights changed, Chris stood, ready to move- and froze on the spot.

Wide blue eyes stared directly at Death from across the street with a look of sheer terror. _–what in the… -_ So unexpected was the reaction that Death had to consciously check that he had not let his illusion slip accidentally. He hadn't. But there was no mistake; the kid stared directly at him like a rabbit in a frozen panic. But _how_?

A perplexed Death watched the small crowd at the lights stride out as one. Except for the boy, who stood there petrified, unconsciously clenching the strap of his backpack tight. It was only when annoyed pedestrians pushed the youth aside that he seemed to snap out of it. He mumbled something apologetically and stiffly backed away, choosing to turn the corner instead of crossing the street over to where Death stood.

"Ah damn it!" Death snarled to himself as he set off in pursuit, wondering at how this had all seemed so simple but a moment ago. How could this human _see_ him? It should not be possible!

_-unless Azrael's soul somehow retains extrasensory perception?- _Death considered frowning. It was not beyond the realm of possibility. He'd seen stranger things in his time. But even so, even if the boy could see him, it still did not explain his reaction! They had never _met_, could not _possibly_ know who Death was... and yet such face blanching terror was that of a man fearing for his life. Now, the Rider of Death was used to beings everywhere fleeing at the sight of him, but honestly! The _one_ time he'd only wanted to talk?...

By the time he turned the corner the blonde had disappeared down, Death's target was only a score paces ahead, walking stiffly and hurriedly, not even daring to look back. He looked for all the world like he wanted to run, but was too self conscious to do so. This was also odd, the Horseman decided. Why not run if he was so afraid?

Thankfully this side street was almost devoid of pedestrians. Dropping the invisibility to approach him openly this time, Death caught up to the boy as he invariably had to wait at the next corner for these set of lights to change. As gently as he could he placed a hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Christian…"

"Stay away from me!" The kid jumped and knocked the hand away, startling even the impassive Death with the explosive reaction. A mixture of rage and fear in his eyes, the kid backed away into the street.

"Wait!" Cars had not stopped speeding by and Death extended a hand toward the boy reflexively but only succeeded in making him turn and bolt in panic. "Christian!"

Tires screeched loudly as a driver desperately tried to brake, white smoke enveloped the locking wheels and it was by sheer luck and quick reflexes that Chris avoided the car he'd not seen coming. He vaulted over the hood of the car, landed awkwardly on the other side and kept running as soon as he regained his feet.

Death felt like he had to swallow his heart back down and wondered if he had just narrowly missed watching the future gatekeeper die just like that in front of his very eyes.

"Asshole!" the frazzled driver yelled after the running boy then turned to stare disapprovingly at Death from across the street. Angry honks from the cars piling up on the intersection filled the night air.

Well, pursuit was out of the question if _that_ was the kind of stupidity this human was capable of under duress! Death thought irritated, a deep frown creasing his brow. How had this kid even survived this long? This was, most definitely, _not_ the calm collected Azrael he knew.

_Had_ known.

"Dust!" the Horseman yelled unnecessarily, if only to cool the mounting irritation and the unbidden stab of pain he refused to admit he'd just felt.

The crow did not answer. But only because he was already flying in pursuit above the blonde boy long before his master had asked him to.

...

* * *

(1) points if you guess the band ;)

(2) In "Death's Door" the comic that accompanied Darksiders 2, Death pays an unsanctioned visit to Earth at the time of the black plague that ran rampant through much of Europe in the 17th century.


	4. Chapter 2

I don't own anything in the Darksiders franchise.  
sadly...

* * *

...

Chapter 2

...

Chris slammed the door to his apartment shut and bodily threw his back against it. His legs finally gave out and he sank to the floor, heart pounding and chest heaving with rasping breaths. At least his body had held out through that mad run to his apartment building and then up the 5 floors worth of stairs –because he could never trust the stupid elevator to work- and… oh yeah, getting _hit by a car_... Only now was it all sinking in. What the hell had he been thinking?!

Hand covering his mouth, Chris tried to calm down taking deeper breaths. He tried to stand up and sharp pain in his right hip almost made him fall back down, but he managed to shakily get to his feet.

"Yep. Real smart Chris, real smart… " he mumbled to himself as he massaged his hipbone.

He'd avoided getting straight up run over by jumping and sliding across the car's hood at the last second, but that still meant he had taken a considerable impact. Come to think of it, his entire right side hurt. He could probably expect some nasty bruising in the morning…

What the hell had possessed him to run into the road like an idiot? The answer came to him in a flash that left him cold all over again. Those eyes. Those burning amber eyes that still haunted his dreams. It had been so long since he'd seen them, so long that he'd come to think he'd never see them again. Well, that hope had just been shattered.

They seemed to blaze with a light all of their own, but the malice that radiated from them sent chills up his spine. They were a predator's eyes, their gaze cold and calculating. And never, _never_ had he seen them so close…

Chris wiped the cooling sweat from his brow. In his daze he hadn't realized he'd slid to the floor yet again. Exhausted, every muscle protested as he made himself stand up and for an instant he seriously entertained the thought of going to sleep right there by the door. The adrenaline rush was most definitely gone and he ached all over.

To tell the truth Chris was disappointed in himself. He was supposed to be the chill one, the guy his friends depended on to handle most situations without freaking out. But what happened just now had rocked him to the core. He'd completely lost it and hadn't even realized until later just how badly he'd handled it.

He needed to get a hold of himself, put this bad fright behind him and get on with things. That's all it was. A bad fright. Nothing had come of it before, and nothing would come of it now. It certainly hadn't seemed like he'd been followed. The couple times he had dared to look back, the black clad stranger remained immobile on his side of the road.

The blonde shuffled over to the kitchen counter and mechanically unpacked the groceries, fitting them into their respective cupboards while his mind played back his encounter with The Stranger. For all the years he'd not seen the guy, he hadn't changed one bit. Tall, pale and muscled. He dressed in dull black pants and dark purple t-shirt. The long black leather coat was the same, the knee high black boots were the same… shit did this guy ever change his clothes? Yet for all that the sight of this guy was so hauntingly familiar, he knew nothing of him. To this day he still referred to him as "The Stranger", and to this day, he'd had no luck convincing anyone else that he was _real_.

Ever since he was a small boy, the sight of The Stranger off in the distance had turned his blood cold. He wasn't always there when the kids went out to play in the orphanage's playground, but when he was, it was always the same. The dark stranger would stand there unmoving and look straight at him, following him with that unnerving gaze, with piercing amber eyes that for some reason seemed to his infant self the very embodiment of evil. The impression had stuck in his young mind, and the fact that no one else saw this man convinced him this Stranger was in fact a ghost that had taken a liking to haunting him. A creepy, stalker ghost. It was embarrassing to admit that even as a grown man, he was still scared shitless of it.

But then, ghosts were supposed to be immaterial right? He suddenly remembered the weight of The Stranger's hand on his shoulder just now and his skin crawled all over. He remembered the coarse sound of the guy's voice, that terrible voice that sounded like it drifted up from an open grave. The sight of those awful amber eyes up close. So close. He'd never been this _close_! And the very first word he'd heard the Stranger utter was _his name!_

Unconsciously Chris clutched at his chest as he stood over the open refrigerator. His heart was racing again. This guy was back. Whoever he was, ghost or not, he was prowling _this_ neighborhood now. He was sure The Stranger hadn't followed just now, but if he was hanging around here now, how long until he saw the ghost again? Worse; if the ghost had straight up talked to him just now, touched him, what's to say it couldn't actually hurt him? What's to say it wasn't actively searching for him now?! How long until it found out where he lived?!

The boy cast nervous eyes about his apartment, half expecting to find the figure of The Stranger half concealed in the shadows already. His dark silhouette against the windows...

Nothing. Only the bright city lights below dimly filtered in, innocently casting the dark apartment intermittently in shades of neon pink and blue. Chris breathed a loud sigh of relief. He realized he was shaking and made a conscious effort to calm down. His mind was running away with him. Was he really such a nervous wreck? He hardly knew himself.

He strolled to the other side of the kitchen counter into the living room area and turned on the lights. All of them. Normally he enjoyed the quiet of his apartment in the dark, it was somehow soothing. But tonight every shadow seemed treacherous.

He looked over his home and was content that everything seemed to be in order. It was a sparse yet cozy place that one would not at first glance imagine was really a converted storage space -which was the reason he could rent it for dirt cheap- But with Nic's help they'd managed to turn the barren space into a warm comfortable one bedroom apartment they could be proud of.

It was home. And more importantly, Nic had been satisfied that he wanted for nothing here and had stopped pestering him to go over to live with her. Much as he loved her, he also loved his independence. He'd always been a bit of a lone wolf.

Another thing he loved was the wall to wall row of windows in both the living room and the adjacent bedroom. Nic called it a 'feature', he just called it 'cool'. Chris went to sit on his favorite spot on the wide windowsill where he usually took the time to stare at the rooftops and unwind after a busy day. It was dark outside and the snow was falling heavily now.

Maybe he would give Nic a call, listening to her blabber away about something or other would calm his nerves; get him to think of something else. He took his cell phone from his pocket and was about to dial her number when outside the windows he spotted a large crow perched on a TV antenna. He wouldn't have thought much of it, except this crow seemed somehow _odd_. Large and scraggly, its beak curved more like a bird of prey than a true crow. What was it doing in the middle of the city away from a flock? And… why was it staring straight at him?

No. He was imagining things! Yet the black bird cocked its head, still staring, so intently that Chris felt he had no choice but to stare back. Staring with bright yellow eyes instead of black.

The bird cawed.

A knock sounded at the door and Chris jumped out of his skin.

"What am I doing? Calm the fuck down!" he firmly told himself.

He certainly hadn't expected Andre to keep to his word and actually return his class notes tonight, but this sure was a welcome visit. He could do with the company right now.

He ignored the crow flying away as he turned away from the window. The blonde forced a smile on his face, he wasn't about to let his friend see something was wrong and then have to explain the whole ordeal. No one had ever believed him about the Stranger anyway, why would now be different?

Chris opened the door, and the smile died. The world stopped for an endless second in which he stared, frozen once again, into deep burning eyes.

"Christian…"

Chris slammed the door shut, but the Stranger was faster. He caught the door with a single hand, opening it effortlessly despite the boy pushing with all his might.

No use, Chris abandoned the door and backed away into the apartment.

"Who are you!?"

"Calm down." the man's gravelly voice commanded while he took the time to gently close the door.

"Who the fuck are you!? Get out of my house!"

"I am Death." he said stoically "granted, that hardly puts you at ease…" he added more to himself. The Stranger presented both palms before him innocently. "I only wish to talk."

Death? _Death?_ What the hell? This guy was a freak! Chris was cornered further into the apartment by the intruder towering over him. This close, the Stranger seemed larger than life. This was no ghost! His heart was in his throat, there was nowhere to run. He backed around the coffee table, stepped on the sofa and then even over the sofa's backrest trying to put something, anything, in between this guy and himself. But the Stranger still paced closer unrelenting, calmly moving to block his path if Chris so much as stepped sideways towards the door.

"Would you just… I'm not going to hurt you" It was the calmness in the intruder's voice that was most unsettling. If anything, he only sounded mildly annoyed.

Remembering his phone Chris quickly dialed while this _Death_ character still seemed reluctant to make a lunge for him.

"Get the fuck out I'm calling the police!"

"Law enforcement?"

Was that a question? Chris only stared blankly in reply. What was this guy _on_?

"Don't. They will die."

The cold flat tone of the intruder made Chris stop in his tracks "What?..."

"That in turn, will mean that reinforcements will undoubtedly come" Death continued in a casual explanatory tone. "They too will die." He locked eyes with Chris meaningfully "If you call, you'll have a massacre on your hands and I have no wish to kill anyone tonight..."

The boy stared back aghast "What, are you a serial killer?"

"No..." Death doubted for a second if he could really dismiss the comparison, then decided to put that aside. "But I _am_ dangerous. And I mean what I say."

Stranger and youngster stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, the phone's soft dialing the only sound in the room.

"911, state your emergency..."

Mind wracked in conflict Chris searched the intruder's gaze and was met only with conviction in those burning eyes that somehow managed to seem so cold. He was serious, he realized. Holy shit this guy was _serious_!

"Sir...? Are you there?"

"I… I'm sorry" Chris apologized in a daze, not taking his horrified eyes off the intruder. "misdialed..."

"Sir?!..."

He lowered the cell phone numbly and hung up before the operator could school him on improper use of the emergency services.

"Thank you" Death said earnestly, taking a step closer. "Now give me that device."

Again Chris just stared until he figured out by the outstretched hand that 'device' meant his phone. He complied meekly, wondering at his own resignation as he watched the Stranger stash his phone away.

What was he doing?! He'd just handed over his only life line just like that, to his _stalker_! But he felt numb. Tired and numb. The man's dark aura overwhelmed him to a point he could no longer react, and there was really nowhere to run now. _-Real smart Chris- _he chided himself again_ \- real smart-._


End file.
